


Dance with Me

by belovedyuuri (belovedstill)



Series: 100 Ways to Say 'I Love You' (Viktor/Yuuri Edition) [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 3+1, Alternate Universe, Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Character's Name Spelled as Viktor, Child Katsuki Yuuri, Child Victor Nikiforov, Childhood Friends, Dancer Victor Nikiforov, High School Prom, M/M, Panic Attacks, School Dances, Victor has two moms, implied depressed Victor, this is something I call 'sped up slow burn'
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-08
Updated: 2017-06-08
Packaged: 2018-11-11 10:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11146833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belovedstill/pseuds/belovedyuuri
Summary: 3 times Yuuri Katsuki stumbles when dancing with Viktor and 1 time he gets it right.





	Dance with Me

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 55. 'I don't mind.'
> 
> great thanks to [Sasha](http://some-people-call-it-tragic.tumblr.com/) for explaining to me what the graduation prom in Russia looks like <3

****

**_1_ **

 

Yuuri is eight when he enters the wooden camp house for the first time, clutching to Minako-sensei’s hand. He shouldn’t really be here, he was supposed to join the skating camp Yuuko went to but the organisers decided at the very last minute that they couldn’t take boys with them. Minako-sensei was the last hope for him to spend two weeks of his summer vacation out of his house. This year, she was asked to provide ballet classes at the famous Mr. Feltsman’s Dance Camp; Yuuri was allowed to come only because of that, he was sure.

He doesn’t know Russian. He barely knows English, too, only the words and phrases Minako-sensei managed to teach him before arriving at the place. Nerves eat at his insides, making his stomach clench painfully. He shouldn’t be here, he doesn’t even know how to dance!

Minako-sensei talks to another instructor in a language that doesn’t make any sense to Yuuri, nodding at him at one point and wrapping her arm around his shoulder. He recognises his own name falling from her lips, immediately repeated by the man she is talking to.

She kneels down in front of him and puts her hands on his shoulders. “You will learn how to dance here,” she tells him, making sure he’s focusing on her words. “Just follow what the teacher and other children are doing and you’ll be fine.”

Yuuri breathes shakily. “Will you stay here?”

She shakes her head. “I have to teach another class. But I’ll come get you when it’s over and we’ll eat lunch together. Alright?”

Yuuri wants to say that it’s not alright, especially when his ears catch the sound of unfamiliar languages spoken all around him. He and Minako-sensei are the only Japanese people in the room and his stomach doesn’t like it.

The teacher next to them claps his hands to attract the students’ attention then, and Yuuri instinctively nods his head.

Minako-sensei smiles at him and gives his shoulders a gentle squeeze. “Good luck, Yuuri,” she tells him. With that, she’s gone to teach her own class.

Yuuri timidly looks around the room and quickly walks to the back of it, keeping close to the walls just so he’ll notice immediately if they start to close in on him.

 

-

 

Yuuri dislikes dancing. Or rather, he dislikes the dance class Minako-sensei leaves him at every day around 10 am. They dance in pairs there, children of all ages holding each other’s hands and moving together - some take a step forward while others move backward. The teacher speaks very often but Yuuri only has managed to differentiate between a few of the words he uses. “ _One, two, three_ ” are numbers, the man says those and all the students move their feet in the rhythm of his voice.

Yuuri tries to do that, too, but he’s too focused on how his hands are clammy with sweat. Sometimes, the sound of his own blood echoing in his ears drowns out the teacher’s voice and he steps out, or worse, steps on his partner’s foot.

The boy he’s dancing with seems to make a show of wiping his hands against his trousers whenever Yuuri’s hands become too sweaty and he grabs Yuuri’s fingers back without asking.

(Not that Yuuri would understand if the boy did ask, but he doesn’t like not having a say in this.)

He doesn’t tell Minako-sensei that he feels bad during the classes, he doesn’t even mention that he’s noticed the classroom becoming smaller and smaller, the walls seemingly trying to reach him as forcefully as his partner does.

One day, though, another child joins the group, and the boy who has danced with Yuuri till now says something to the teacher and never comes back to him. Instead, he takes the new girl’s hands into his own and gets into a position they’ve been practicing for the last several days.

Yuuri’s lungs are working too fast. The air around him turns cold with the realisation of what’s going on. Breathing feels like shreds of ice force their way down his throat, body growing light and heavy at the same time and before he even notices, he’s sitting on the floor, his freezing cold fingers held in a pair of warm, bigger hands. Somebody is talking to him in words he can’t understand, can’t really hear over the loud, high noise in his ears, in his head, in his entire body.

Walls close in around him, only a circle of space, nearly nonexistent, left around him and the teacher - it must be the teacher. Yuuri feels something hot on his face, moving down his cheeks, stinging his eyes.

“Breathe,” he hears the language of his mom and dad, the word Mari usually murmurs to him back at home reaching him through the freezing smoke of nothing and too much at the same time. “Breathe, Yuuri. Focus on me. Breathe in. In, Yuuri.”

Minako-sensei, he thinks finally, the shadows clouding his vision slowly dissipating. Sure enough, Minako-sensei is right there when his eyes are able to see again, and now it’s her hands that are holding his hands, massaging warmth into his fingers. Yuuri notices he can move them again.

He tries to breathe along with her, shaking with how difficult it is to do it as slow as her. With every another attempt, it gets easier.

The walls around him aren’t walls - is what he notices when his breathing has calmed enough; they are the children in the class, crowding around him like he’s an exhibit in a museum, an animal in a zoo.

Maybe he is; he can’t understand their speech, after all.

“There you go,” Minako-sensei murmurs to him. He can’t help but cry. She takes him out of the wooden house, away from the staring children and the boy who doesn’t want to dance with him anymore.

 

-

 

“I don’t want to go there again,” Yuuri says next morning.

Minako-sensei sighs but continues to lead him towards the same wooden house in which his dance class takes place. “I can’t leave you alone in our room while I’m teaching, Yuuri,” she tells him. “Besides, I talked to your instructor. He promised to find somebody who could be your partner.”

Yuuri pouts at her because it’s the only thing left that he can do, but Minako-sensei isn’t looking at him. They reach the dance class and she leaves him inside sooner than he likes.

“Ah, Yuuri!” the teacher calls, making him freeze in his track. The man waves him over, the other hand resting on another boy’s shoulder.

Yuuri hasn’t seen the boy in the class before. That must be the child the teacher promised he would find.

“Viktor,” the man says, clapping the boy’s shoulder. Some other words follow, from which he only understands ‘dance’ but when the boy—Viktor—gives him a wide smile and offers him his hand, Yuuri thinks he doesn’t need to know all the words to understand.

 

-

 

Viktor never grabs Yuuri’s hand like his previous dance partner did. When he needs to get Yuuri’s attention, he simply says his name - he says _his_ name - and he patiently leads Yuuri through all the steps, no matter how many times Yuuri steps on his feet or moves in a completely different direction than he’s supposed to.

“ _Sorry!_ ” he calls in English every time because the Russian word never wants to stay in his memory. He says it again and again, and Viktor always smiles at him and shakes his head and says several phrases that sound English.

One of them is ‘It’s okay’. Yuuri knows this one. He’s so grateful for Minako-sensei teaching it to him.

The other phrase, Yuuri doesn’t understand and can’t even remember, but Viktor doesn’t seem bothered about it.

Yuuri’s hands stop sweating so much. Viktor doesn’t seem to notice they have ever been wetter than his own.

 

-

 

“Yuuri?” Viktor says, waving his hand in front of his face, still farther than most would. When Yuuri focuses on him, he tilts his head. “ _Okay?_ ”

Yuuri nods and smiles a little. “ _Okay._ ”

 

-

 

“So?” Minako-sensei asks him when there are only two days of the camp left. “How do you like your dance classes now?”

Yuuri babbles excitedly about the boy that dances with him and always waits for him to take his hands first, and speaks his name like it’s supposed to be spoken (Viktor said it incorrectly one time but Yuuri corrected him and he’s been pronouncing it well ever since), who shares his water bottle when Yuuri’s done with his tiny one, who never gets angry with him and always gives him a smile and calls his name and claps his hands together whenever Yuuri dances correctly.

“He says _okay_ ,” Yuuri tells her when they're in their beds with the lights off. “He says… he says something else, too. When I say _sorry_. I don’t know what.”

“What does he say?” Minako-sensei asks.

Yuuri wills his tongue to move, stuttering over sounds that it’s unfamiliar with. What comes out of his mind must not make much sense because Minako-sensei is quiet for a long time. But then…

“He says that he doesn’t mind,” she tells him.

For some reason, those words seem like the best words that Viktor could have ever said to him.

“Thank you, Minako-sensei.”

 

-

 

Viktor doesn’t know much English, nor does he know Japanese at all, but with Minako-sensei’s help Yuuri learns that the other boy is 10 and lives in Moscow and would like it if Yuuri came back to the camp next year. She translates that Viktor will be looking forward to the summer if Yuuri promises to come back.

He knows it’s bad to make promises if he doesn’t know he can keep them, but he really wants to dance with Viktor again. He has never had so much fun away from his friends, on or off the ice.

 

 

**_2_ **

 

Postcards from Viktor fill his entire drawer, but Yuuri still adds more and more, sometimes putting in it full paged letters as well. Phone calls between Japan and Russia are way too expensive for how much (or little) his family earns and Mari doesn’t always let Yuuri use her computer so he and Viktor write letters to each other.

In his newest letter, with a postcard from Barcelona this time, Viktor writes about his latest dance competition. He and his partner, Mila, are champions in every city they go to. Viktor says that his teachers don’t like him missing classes because of so many travels but he can’t help it.

 _Besides_ , Viktor writes, _I_ _’m graduating in June and all my grades are good. They can’t be too angry with me if I’m not failing their classes._

Yuuri can only agree with him.

Viktor is finishing high school this year - he’s 20 years old this year, Yuuri knows he had to take a two-year break from schooling when his mothers noticed something alarming in his behaviour - something that Viktor confided to Yuuri in his letters.

 _Sometimes I feel like I_ _’m not really here_ , Viktor confessed once. _I lie in my bed for hours without a thought in my head and I still feel overwhelmed. Does that happen to you, too?_

No, Yuuri answered to that letter. No, it has never happened to him and he was sorry that Viktor felt that way. Maybe he should talk to his parents about it. Makkachin and Yuuri can’t be the only two beings that Viktor tells about this.

Viktor’s mothers put their entire world on hold for their son and during that summer they went on a trip around the world, even going as far as to make a two-day stop in Hasetsu, the most wonderful surprise Yuuri has ever received.

 _Yuuri_ , Viktor writes in the latest letter. The word in Viktor’s handwriting never fails to make Yuuri smile. _I_ _’ve been thinking… Do you have graduation proms in Japan? We have them in Russia. My school is organising one and of course I need to go. I’ve been wondering if you would like to accompany me?_

Yuuri’s eyes stop at the last two words. The whole world seems to pause around him. Has he read them right? Is Viktor really asking him— _him_?

_Would you like to accompany me?_

_Accompany me?_

He? Yuuri?

Yuuri blinks and pushes air out of his lungs, immediately breathing in. He hasn’t even noticed that he’s been holding his breath. He makes his eyes move further over the letter.

_I would really like to go with a friend and you_ _’re a very good friend to me, Yuuri. Mамочка_ _says that we can cover the cost of the tickets to and from Russia (as my graduation gift) and you could stay for some time at our house. I could show you my favourite places! And you would meet Makkachin! Wouldn_ _’t that be great?_

_Please, think about it and let me know about your decision as soon as possible. (It would make me very happy if you said yes!)_

‘It would make him very happy.’

It would make Yuuri happy, too. He’s always wanted to meet Viktor’s dog - the boy has always talked about her on and on, simply unable to stop. He even has one four-page letter from Viktor fully dedicated to Makkachin. He loves rereading it from time to time.

He wants to go to the prom with Viktor. They don’t have such things in Japan, after all.

But still… It’s all the way in Russia. Yuuri has never traveled alone so far. He doesn’t react well to even taking the metro when he knows that nobody will be going with him. To go to Russia, alone, only to meet Viktor and go to a dance with him?

…ah, hell. It’ll be worth it. Of course it will.

He’ll have to ask Minako-sensei to help him with his dancing.

 

-

 

Yuuri clenches his fingers on his too long sleeve. He's never been to a graduation prom before—or any prom at all, for that matter. His hands sweat like there's no tomorrow, he's sure there are wet spots on the blue fabric of his jacket.

Viktor’s moms made sure their outfits matched so nobody had any doubts that Yuuri actually had a partner and wasn't just a stray foreigner sneaking into a prom in a school that wasn't even his.

The moment they enter the club, they're embraced by a mix of perfume and cologne that aren't the ones Viktor sprayed them both with. The smell is heady; in the lights flickering around the place it creates the illusion of a heavy cloud trying to reach and stupefy all the prom participants. Nobody looks fazed by it, though, maybe because the fog on the dance floor is created by a smoke machine.

The room is loud and the music isn't even playing yet; instead, countless conversations in a language Yuuri still doesn't know serve as a tune. For a long moment, he's an eight-year-old again, eyes flying from one faceless person to another, the laughter that he doesn’t grasp the source of wraps its fingers around his throat and squeezes and the room gets colder and colder—

“Yuuri?”

Viktor’s hand is hot when his fingers gingerly wrap around his own. Yuuri lets go of his jacket and clutches to the familiar warmth, first with one hand, then with the other as well.

Viktor’s eyes are worried when he finds them looking back at him. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks and Yuuri automatically nods.

They’ve planned Yuuri coming to Russia for Viktor’s graduation prom for months. Yes, there have been times when his anxiety has got the upper grip on the situation, making him question everything.

Why him? Viktor has a dance partner that he goes to every competition imagined with and with whom he wins all kinds of trophies. Yuuri has seen the recordings; Mila is a talented, graceful dancer.

Is it because Yuuri told Viktor there are no graduation proms in Japan? Or maybe it’s because of that one time he mentioned that he couldn’t wait to see Viktor again…

…In one of his letters, Viktor wrote that he couldn’t wait to dance with Yuuri one more time. He must have been teasing, Yuuri’s mind supplies the well-groomed thought, he knows very well what an awful partner he is. To this day Yuuri’s winces in sympathy for Viktor’s feet whenever he remembers them dancing together.

He bets even Minako-sensei believes he’s a lost cause, and she’s a miraculous teacher.

“We don’t have to stay here long,” Viktor tells him as he leads him to one of the long tables, tens of other students dressed to the nines already sitting at it.

Yuuri tightens his grip over Viktor’s fingers and manages to breathe when he feels a squeeze in return.

 

-

 

The music slows down significantly when they reach the dance floor. Everybody around them starts cheering, to the band, the DJ, or whomever, Yuuri could even go as far as to say they were clapping at Viktor for bringing Yuuri (the foreigner, definitely not a professional dancer) into the spotlight,  out there for everybody to laugh at him.

Viktor moves in front of him, grinning, and Yuuri pales.

“I can't dance,” he tries, but when Viktor offers him his hand in an invitation, he accepts. “I don't remember how—”

“Just follow me.” Viktor’s voice is softer than he's ever heard it be.

Maybe it’s the slow, delicate melody or maybe somebody spiked the orange juice he’s had but—Yuuri’s instantly awestruck, rendered speechless right there where he is…

Because _oh_.

In the midst of beautiful gowns and sharp suits, foreign chatter, clouds of perfume, and the lights changing colours every couple of seconds, there is Viktor, pulling him ever so gently into a dance so gentle it could break hearts, and Yuuri can't help but think that everything suddenly makes sense.

His heart beating as though it wants to escape, the strange, yet not bad, feeling in his belly, his body relaxed and tense at the same time.

He and Viktor. They've been working up to this point for a long time, how hasn't he noticed?

This—this realisation, this everything—makes him feel dizzy and Viktor isn't even spinning him yet, they're only swaying together; so close, never have they been so close, Yuuri’s sure he would have remembered.

The music plays and plays, he isn't listening to it at all. His heart is beating too loud, the only sound his ears are able to focus on is whenever Viktor huffs a chuckle or whispers to him.

It dawns on him suddenly that they are slow dancing on a prom night. He's heard about how romantic these things are before, about the implications.

Is Viktor aware of it? Has he planned it?

Is he going to kiss him tonight?

...is Viktor even on the same page?

And what page is _Yuuri_ on?

Viktor is looking at him with the same soft expression when Yuuri focuses back on him.

His eyes… Could it be—?

Viktor hisses quietly, just a glimpse of a second after Yuuri falls forward in a step Viktor definitely didn't lead him to.

“I'm sorry!” he calls, first in Japanese, instinctively, then in English, heat spilling down his cheeks, even reaching his ears. “I'm so sorry, Viktor—”

“Yuuri.” That one word, pronounced so tenderly, so dearly, is enough to steal all apologies from Yuuri’s tongue. “It's okay. I don't mind.”

There's that look again.

Viktor’s arms stay as gentle as before when he repeats, “I don't mind at all,” and Yuuri stumbles _again,_ and that's when Viktor laughs.

For the first time in his life, Yuuri _knows_ nobody is mocking him.

He starts laughing, too.

 

-

 

They leave the club past 4 am, their stomachs full with food, their feet aching, bodies buzzing with soda and the glass of champagne they were allowed to drink. (Some graduates managed to get a hold of more alcohol; it loosened their tongues. When Yuuri found himself talked to in broken English, he couldn’t help but think that maybe Viktor’s classmates didn’t hate him, after all.)

The day is already waking up, the sky getting lighter and lighter with every minute. Yuuri stops in his track and looks around in confusion.

“It’s day,” he says.

Viktor chuckles by his side. “It is.”

“We’ve been there the whole night?”

It’s not that he can’t believe it - time always flies fast when he spends it with Viktor, be it online or physically together, talking or dancing. He feels tiredness seeping through his bones, too, so he knows it’s not strange that so many hours have passed.

But still. He’s danced the whole night, in a foreign country, has talked to people using a language that none of them are completely fluent in and yet… he’s had… fun?

Viktor smiles at him and takes his hand, and Yuuri is suddenly reminded that they’ve been doing _that_ the whole night as well. Viktor’s warmth has been a constant today. Maybe that’s why Yuuri hasn’t felt the sense of ‘strange’ in his body?

“There’s this tradition that we have,” Viktor tells him as they start to walk - where, Yuuri doesn’t know.

“Tradition?”

“Mhm.” They cross the street, empty of vehicles save for those parked on the curb. “After the prom, we go out and welcome the sunrise.”

Yuuri tilts his head. “Why?”

That question seems to floor Viktor. His usual confidence stutters on his face as he tightens his fingers on Yuuri’s hand. “Well… I don’t really…”

Yuuri runs his thumb over Viktor’s hand. “It sounds like a very lovely way to finish the night.”

When he looks at Viktor, the man looks relieved, a smile back to his face, and the same look that was present on his face nearly the entire night reaches his eyes again.

“Would you like to watch the sunrise with me, Yuuri?” Viktor asks.

Somehow, the question sounds like the most important thing in the world. The daylight, still not graced by the sun but readying for it, reflects in Viktor’s hair like pure silver, making it shine as though it was made of stardust. Viktor’s looking at him, watching him, and Yuuri can’t even think, his mind can’t consciously form any words. He answers with the one word that feels right.

“Yes.” He feels a smile on his own face. His own voice has a note of that Viktor-softness when he adds, “I’d love to.”

The hill they climb on is surprisingly deserted, no other students visible but for the couple they have noticed at the very bottom of the slope. Viktor takes his jacket off and lays it on the grass, damp from the dew yet still warmed by the heat of the previous day. Yuuri’s about to do the same, but Viktor simply sits down and offers him his hand, pulls him onto the jacket, next to him, close, so close, they nearly don’t fit on it. Viktor wraps his arm around him and pulls him even closer, then, and _oh._

Now everything is perfect.

They’re quiet for a long time—if Yuuri’s heart can be described as quiet at the moment. He has no idea what’s going on, what’s happening, they’ve been so close to each other numerous of times, they’ve danced together (or tried to, anyway) the three summers he was allowed to attend the dance camp, and Viktor always hugs him for ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’. Yuuri has known for a while now what it feels like to be embraced by Viktor, or what his hands feel like when they hold his own, or when he leads him in a dance or on a walk or when their fingers meet while petting Makkachin.

He’s known it all, he still knows it, but right now—

Something has changed this night. Something has awakened in him.

Maybe it was the lights in the club, or the fog curling around their feet as they danced. Maybe it was the fact that at the very beginning of the prom Yuuri was so overwhelmed that the only thing he could feel was Viktor’s heart beating steadily underneath his hand as they danced to one of the slow songs.

Or maybe it was the confetti one of the graduates threw at them, which stuck to Viktor’s hair and wouldn’t let go until Yuuri picked it out, laughing, laughing the entire night, laughing with Viktor.

Viktor doesn’t seem to act differently around him, not at all - he behaves just like he always does, paying attention to Yuuri when nobody else does, making sure he’s warm and comfortable and isn’t pressured to anything he doesn’t feel good with.

They’re sitting there, facing east, the horizon slowly growing brighter and brighter, as though getting ready to introduce the main performer.

“I’ve never thought I’d get to do it,” Viktor whispers to him, as quietly as the wind that rustles through the leaves of the nearby tree.

Yuuri looks up at him, his nose nearly touching Viktor’s chin. They’re _so close_ , but he doesn’t pull away. He’s comfortable here.

“Do what?”

Viktor’s eyes are fixed on the point on the sky where the sun starts to rise. Yuuri can see the gold of it in his blue eyes, doesn’t look away, tries to look _deeper_.

“I’ve never thought that I’d get to see the sunrise,” Viktor says softly, his voice trembling a little—Yuuri wraps his arm around him and rubs his back in case he’s cold—and Viktor smiles and continues, “With somebody I care so deeply about.”

Yuuri’s hand freezes, and only because he’s watching Viktor’s face, he knows that the blue eyes freeze, too.

Viktor licks his lips, a nervous habit. “Yuuri…”

But Yuuri’s not listening, he can’t hear anything over the blood rushing in his ears, can’t feel anything but the heat on his cheeks, can’t _think_ about anything else than curling his fingers in Viktor’s dress shirt and pulling him close—

“Yuuri, if it’s too much, I’ll—”

“Kiss me?” Yuuri breathes, shaking his head and moving onto his knees, anything just to do the one thing that’s the only thought in his head right now, anything to get Viktor to do what he wants—what they both want, and he wants to assure him that that’s the case, he’s really okay with that, he wouldn’t mind if—

Viktor’s hands cradle his head, like he’s something precious and cherished. Yuuri feels tears start to pool in the corners of his eyes, and then—oh, and then…

He forgets all about the sun, or the couple at the bottom of the hill, or the start of the new day when the energy of cosmic proportions explodes with warmth in his chest, wreaking sweet havoc within him, never to be the same again.

 

 

**_3_ **

 

“Dance with me, Yuuri,” Viktor says after they've spent the entire day unpacking. There are still a couple of boxes standing in the tiny hall and the living room but they sure as hell aren't going to pay them much mind tonight.

“'S two in the morning,” Yuuri complains yet still takes Viktor’s hands and lets himself be pulled to his feet. “Even Makka’s asleep already. We'll wake him up.”

“We'll be quiet. Promise.“

They're both wearing socks since their carpet will only arrive in two days and their slippers are smooshed in one of the remaining boxes. They should have had labeled them more properly.

Viktor pulls him into position, one arm wrapped around Yuuri’s back and the other holding his hand resting lax right over his heart. The only thing Yuuri loves more is when they're swaying from side to side, snuggled against each other.

“We’re in our socks,” Yuuri points out, needlessly.

“I’m a good dancer.”

“Not what I’m worried about.”

Viktor starts to hum a quiet melody, completely ignoring any non-complaints that Yuuri is ready to feed to him.

It only makes Yuuri breathe a smile and shake his head. He follows Viktor’s steps, used to it, ready for it. Dancing with Viktor feels like second nature to him after all those years spent doing little else, especially after their engagement.

Viktor’s never tired of having him so close, it seems; he always wraps his arms around Yuuri and sways with him, even in place, even in public, even when having conversations with their friends. In the mornings, middays, evenings, late into the night… Even after tiring dance practices and competitions in which he and Mila still medal every time.

Viktor Nikiforov, _the man with golden feet_ , is what the Internet has to say about his fiancé. (Yuuri takes every opportunity to tease him about it. Viktor teases back that at least he has a Wikipedia page.)

Yuuri knows the song Viktor is humming. It’s the same one he always sings when they’re dancing together in the privacy of _just_ _us;_ the one that Viktor listens to when everything goes wrong and he needs strength and love and people’s faith in him. It’s a melody that means home and safety to him. Yuuri’s heart still clenches with love when he remembers that Viktor associates it with him.

The whole world seems to be asleep, leaving only the two of them, lost in each other’s eyes, moving as quietly and gently as can be. A smile sparkles in Viktor’s eye; Yuuri knows what it means.

He fully expects the spin when Viktor minutely steps away and raises his arm, twirling him under it. His other arm is there, ready to curl around his back again when—

Yuuri’s socked feet slip on the floor and he yelps, falling backwards, clutching to Viktor’s shirt and clenching his eyes with the anticipation of the impact—

Except it never comes.

Viktor’s eyes are wide with shock when Yuuri looks up at him, arms wrapped around him and holding him in a poor excuse of the dip.

They’re both frozen, their breaths hitched in their throats as they stare at each other—and only when what has just happened dawns on them, they breathe out, as one, chests heaving.

Yuuri opens his mouth, words already on his tongue—

“I don’t mind,” Viktor says, smiling with that fondness that turned Yuuri’s entire world around 5 years ago.

Yuuri closes his eyes, unable to help it when his lips turn into a smile of his own. “You always say that.”

“Because it’s true.”

Before he knows what’s happening, Viktor sneaks one of his arms underneath Yuuri’s legs, hoisting him up, not faltering even when Yuuri lets out a squeal of surprise and throws his arms around Viktor’s neck.

“What are you doing?!”

Makkachin whines in her bed, instantly making Yuuri wince and lower his voice.

“Vitya, put me down.”

Viktor presses a gentle kiss to Yuuri’s temple, not listening at all, not even pretending to. With Yuuri in his arms, he walks into their bedroom, the wardrobe in the corner still wide open, their clothes not exactly put neatly inside, and lays him on the bed.

“We’re going to sleep,” he declares, pulling at Yuuri’s trousers to get them off, making them both laugh when the fabric catches on his feet.

“I can undress myself,” Yuuri argues half-heartedly, not offering any help. He lies there, grinning when his fiancé finally gets the piece of clothing off and, with both hands at the same time, pulls Yuuri’s socks off, dropping them somewhere on the floor.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” Viktor says, taking his own shirt off. “You couldn’t even stand on your own feet a minute ago.”

Yuuri fakes an offended gasp and kicks at the man, making his step back with a laugh before his foot actually reaches him.

They get undressed in a matter of seconds, getting under the covers just in their underwear. Pajamas must have been packed in the same box as the slippers. (Seriously, they should have labeled the boxes. Right now neither their pillows nor the duvet are wrapped in linens because they still haven’t found them.)

Yuuri sighs as he snuggles against Viktor’s side, head fitting perfectly where it’s settled in the crook of Viktor’s neck.

“I can’t believe I agreed to marry you,” he teases, smiling playfully, his voice full of fond exasperation.

He feels more than hears Viktor’s quiet laughter, trembling against his body. The arm around him tightens, briefly pulling him just a tiny bit closer. There’s a gentle pressure on the top of his head; Yuuri lets himself feel it, closing his eyes with a sleepy smile. He can totally get used to having this every day for the rest of his life.

He’s on the edge of sleep, eyelids heavy with dream sand when Viktor whispers, “I can’t believe you did, either.”

Yuuri falls asleep overwhelmed with how blessed he is.

 

 

**_+1_ **

 

This is it. This is the moment Yuuri has been waiting for (excitedly, dreadfully, impatiently—sometimes all at the same time). He’s ready.

Or as ready as he can be, he thinks as he looks at Viktor, dressed in the beautiful white-and-gold suit. The fabric shone outside in the afternoon sun, matching the wedding rings on their fingers.

Married. They’re _married_ now. Yuuri can’t stop himself from grinning, heart bursting with happiness at the reflection of his own feelings in Viktor’s eyes.

They’ve made it; all the years together interlaced with weeks spent apart whenever Viktor would go away for a competition or days when being constantly around another person was just too much - all of it taught them how to open their souls to one another, how to be a team.

The reception entertainer calls them to the dance floor to start the event with their first dance as a married couple. Yuuri takes a deep breath and tightens his hand on Viktor’s, moving through the crowd together, hand in hand as the guests cheer on them.

Everybody is watching them, everybody will see when—no, _if_ Yuuri stumbles. He’s practiced for this occasion tirelessly, hours upon hours, both with Viktor and in secrecy from him. He’s not going to mess it up this time.

Viktor takes both his hands into his own and presses a kiss to them, first to the right, then to the left.

They’re already standing in the position, Viktor looking lovingly into his eyes, when the music starts playing. Yuuri holds his breath in anticipation and watches the man in front of him, waiting for his reaction.

Because it’s not _Love Me Tender_ , not what Viktor chose off-handedly with the remark of “It’s not important what music we’ll dance to; what matters is that we’ll dance together” when there was too little time left to decide.

[ _Я люблю тебя до слез_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nw2fXFV4VmA), is the title of the song. _I love you to tears_.

Viktor’s eyes are watering by the time Yuuri starts to lead. Of course he knows the song; it’s the one he always sings when they dance together.

(Viktor’s mothers have been such a huge help, digging up the CDs Viktor loved as a teenager.)

There’s the look again, the look that has always been there; Yuuri can’t remember a moment in his life when Viktor hasn’t looked at him this way, like Yuuri is love and happiness personified and Viktor has found him and now calls him his own, his luck, his everything.

(There are still days when it’s difficult to think so highly of himself and he knows that it’s the same for Viktor; they learn from each other, though, they learn to see themselves through each other’s eyes and—oh…—when he finally manages to see it, Yuuri likes the version of himself Viktor sees every day.)

It’s unfair. How is he supposed to stay focused on the steps when his _husband_ is tearing up again for the first time since they exchanged their vows? How is he supposed to continue on leading when he has his eyes on the most beautiful man in the room, in the world, in the whole wide universe, and whose blue eyes are staring right back at him?

“Yuuri,” Viktor says, and the name sounds choked out when it reaches him, the music coming to a brief stop right before the chorus, giving them a second to fill their chests with air. Viktor’s lips part again, words ready to spill from his tongue—

But the music picks up again, and when it does, a cloud of white rose petals starts falling softly from above, landing on their heads and shoulders, and all around them as they move in their first dance as _the_ _Katsuki-Nikiforovs_.

Yuuri has orchestrated all of this, everything just to surprise the love of his life, to make that dance memorable, to make sure they remember the song as _theirs_ till their old days; forever and longer. He’s known all of this would happen, but he hasn’t been ready for the pure adoration in the eyes of his husband, rendered as speechless as Yuuri himself feels, or even more.

Yuuri leads and Viktor follows, their eyes blurring so bad the petals look like a snow storm. Step to the left, slowly to the right, again to the left and then—

Yuuri hisses uncontrollably. There’s heaviness on his right foot, followed by a brief twinge to his toes.

“Yuuri!” Viktor gasps. He forces them to stop, even as the band continues to play. Eyes wide, he takes Yuuri’s shoulders in his hands and rubs at them, as if trying to make up for his mistake. “Are you okay? I’m so sorry, love, I’m—”

“Hey,” Yuuri says only, all signs of pain long gone from his face. He’s smiling— _grinning_ at Viktor, eyes sparkling in the lights of the room. He reaches his hands to cup Viktor’s face in them, thumbs caressing tears off his cheeks, and murmurs, voice as tender as possible, “I don’t mind.”

For a second or two, all he sees is the awestruck expression on Viktor’s face, the pure reflection of how Yuuri feels every time he looks at him and realises _that_ _’s him, I’m going to spend the rest of my life with him_. And then Viktor leans in, so quick Yuuri doesn’t even have time to close his eyes right away.

The guests cheer loudly, screaming something about something being bitter, much too bitter, but Yuuri doesn’t care. He’s being kissed by his husband, the one that he loves more than anything.

Viktor steps on his foot again (Yuuri is half convinced it’s on purpose this time) and they laugh, and switch their positions, Yuuri allowing himself to be led this time.

In this very moment, he knows one thing and one thing only; if life with Viktor means aching feet, he doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know if you liked it c:  
> visit me on tumblr @[belovedyuuri](http://belovedyuuri.tumblr.com/)!


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